


A Writer’s Playlist

by xiujaemin



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Red String of Fate, Writer AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-10-18 21:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10625679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiujaemin/pseuds/xiujaemin
Summary: For someone who believes in fate, Kim Junmyeon doesn’t quite trust the way things work.





	

**Author's Note:**

> fill for [this prompt](http://ask.fm/mizuhime/answer/116936845179/)

  
**Side A:**

✎ _ **Thursday.**_

Junmyeon frowns. It’s the first time he’s received a package that doesn’t have a return address and he’s suspicious of what it contains—a bomb? A miniature demon sealed inside a book?—because surely, if it wasn’t for a prank, it definitely would have a return address. Or at least note from the sender, perhaps?

He checks his watch and notices that it was already 8:15, and he curses mentally for dilly-dallying because his class starts at 8:30.

So he leaves the package at the foot of his bed, not exactly in a hurry to check what it has in store for him, but in a panic to get to class on time.

✎ _ **Saturday.**_

Kim Junmyeon has always imagined _the big day_ (a.k.a. the day when he finally meets his soul mate) to be something like what’s written down on books—a cliché meeting in the park one sunny morning; a romance that would blossom in the four corners of a busy café at the side of town; a retelling of a modern fairy tale wherein love conquers all despite the obstacles that would come in the way of the protagonists, as far as the confines of crowded cities and evil stepsisters would allow; a love story written across the shores of a particular beach with white sand and crystal blue waters in the middle of summer; another contribution to the ongoing chronicles of where first loves from high school days turn into the people you marry someday.

But despite all the dramatic scenarios and quixotic buildups, all Junmyeon gets is a guy dressed in a sweater and jogging pants, all black including his socks and shoes and the plain faded cap he wears walking past him in a jog while he sits waiting for the bus to arrive. He expects that day to go with a bang, a spark igniting and exploding in the sky like fireworks, not a fizzle that would disappear before a flicker is even set off.

Albeit disappointed that he wouldn’t get to tell the tale of falling in love in the middle of a traffic jam or build the tension by adding up a few scenes as he retells a non-verbatim conversation struck up while waiting for the subway and realizing the feeling of hearts beating fast halfway through a sentence as he stares into the eyes of the other, he is aware of an opportunity as big as this being presented to him.

And as a protagonist that wouldn’t let the shame of being a half-assed leading man who let his own ship sink before it even started sailing, he stands up and makes a move, choosing to go through a new path that has opened up than the old, routine-like one that’s waiting for him.

He jogs to catch up with the man, the red string connecting them turning gold and glowing brighter as the distance between them closes.

✎ _ **Friday.**_

Junmyeon wakes up with a groan, feeling as if his brain is going to explode. He blames his habit of staying up late, threading stories together and adding up bits and pieces of fragmented words, giving life to characters that only exist in fiction. It’s not completely his fault if the “magic” happens in the middle of the night, and he remains sitting on top of his bed with his sheets left to pool around his splayed legs as he types away plots fueled by the fiber of his imagination while everybody else is fast asleep. Maybe because it’s quiet during that time and he could think of things more clearly and imagine different scenarios that might take place more than when it’s morning or in the middle of the afternoon, but either way, it’s still taking a toll on him, mostly in the form of migraines.

He rubs at his eyes with his right hand, fingers still slightly stiff from typing the previous night. Only the clacking of the keyboard’s keys and the mechanical hum of the air conditioner were there to accompany him then, the radioactive light from the laptop he’s using serving as a beacon.

But now, in broad daylight, he knows he should lock away that part of him for a while. No one should know he’s been staying up all night to craft words into sentences and string them together to form stories that are read by people he doesn’t know, and probably would never know. The life of an online fiction writer living off under a pseudonym that he tells no one he knows in real life about seems like a rather sad take to fulfill his dream of becoming a best-selling author, but for now he’s willing to take baby steps. It’s just that he’s not willing to share his real identity yet.

With a bit of difficulty, he gets up, bones creaking and sore muscles protesting with every movement. He stares blankly at empty space for a while, brain restarting. The booting process is quick enough, and he remembers having to buy a new batch of groceries to live off on. He reaches behind him to scratch his back, steps smaller and slower than his usual pace.

He doesn’t notice the red string tied around his pinkie finger, its bright ruby hue a sudden splash of color in his monotonous array of plain blue and white pajamas.

 

 

 

He doesn’t notice it until he’s washing his face, and he pulls at the obtrusion to take it off, except that he couldn’t, getting woven only tighter and tighter around his little finger, two ends that form a knot intertwined magically to secure a firm hold on his digit.

Having read a lot about myths and legends, he remembers a tale from a Japanese Literature book that he had once borrowed from the library, saying that red threads connect a person to his soul mate.

He leaves it there, not wanting to get so wound up at nine in the morning over some “dumb” thread that wouldn’t let his finger take a breather.

✎ _ **Saturday.**_

The guy’s mouth falls open into a surprised O when Junmyeon approaches him and taps his shoulder to call his attention (which is a rather drastic option, if he might say. He’s not the type to approach someone first unless the situation requires it that much, anyway), and he’s not sure why, but he finds the look on the guy’s face endearing. Maybe because of the fact that he looked adorable that way. Or maybe because of the fact that he looks adorable in general.

“You’re Suho, right?” And he’s about to ask how the hell this guy knew his name because he’s sure he’s kept it a secret, when he remembers that single selca he posted in his blog the very first time he’s started it, buried underneath recent posts, not realizing that someone would have took time to dig through everything and see the photo. Somehow it made him feel uneasy knowing that this person right in front of him has read what he’s written; has seen bits and parts of his soul interwoven through paragraphs, when the other suddenly beams at him, eyes shining and smile blinding, that somehow it was enough to reassure him. “I’m Kyungsoo, and I’ve seen your blog. I’m a great fan of your works! I think you should publish at least one of them.”

Junmyeon couldn’t help but smile in return. This is turning out better than he’s hoped for. “Let’s talk for a while, shall we?”

 

 

For one, even if they weren’t soul mates, Junmyeon still would’ve liked Kyungsoo. Well at least, that’s what he believes from the time they’ve spent talking inside a café at the end of the street over cups of espresso. He was a likeable guy, an indisputably intelligent mind with a face that could have a thousand warriors convinced into ceasing fire and dropping their weapons; accompanied by a horrible sense of humor that would only get you to find him endearing, anyway.

But the problem was, if they weren’t, or if he wasn’t aware of the fact that they were soul mates in the first place, he would probably have lacked the initiative of having a follow-up and leave fate to decide what would be in store for them.

But then again, they are, and he did know, and even though he believed that _if people were meant to be together, they would be,_ he just couldn’t let it pass this time: he has to do this on his own. Maybe because he wants an assurance that they wouldn’t end up like characters from a bad remake of Romeo and Juliet.

Junmyeon waves goodbye, a promise to see each other hanging suspended in the air like a ghost hovering between them.

Kyungsoo just smiles in reply, never agreeing but not saying no either, the golden gleam glinting off of the red string starting to recede as the distance between them grows.

Junmyeon hopes it was the way he says yes.

**Side B:**

✎ _ **Sunday.**_

“That kid? He left for America just this morning. Didn’t he tell you?” a bedraggled lady who claims to be the landlady of the apartment complex where Kyungsoo lives in tells Junmyeon. He fists his hands at his sides, but only nods in understanding. He couldn’t have done anything else, anyway—Kyungsoo has left.

Maybe their story was meant to be like one of those myths of two people meeting at the right place, at the right time, fated to be together, yet not meant to stay with each other until the very end. _Yo yuan wufen. Having fate without destiny._

So he leaves to go back to his own apartment, a crease on his eyebrows and a frown on his lips. Dumbstruck at the feeling of being left hanging in the air like his question the other day and a great loss for something that could have been, he goes back home with a heavy heart, disappointed over everything.

He kicks a box long-forgotten at the foot of his bed, and maybe the force of it was too hard, because the box topples down and the content spills out: a circular-shaped metal lunch box. And then Junmyeon remembers it from days ago, a package he’s left there and picked up to open last night but forgot again halfway because he was supposed to be writing.

He opens it to find a lone mix tape without a single note from who it came from or what it was for, and he thinks, “How old fashioned,” yet he gets up and momentarily leaves the place to go out and buy a cassette player to listen to it.

 

 

The first few seconds were filled with nothing but the sound of the reel being pulled as bit by bit, the tape unwinds, but then a song plays a moment later, its rhythm sweet and beckoning, its lyrics about first loves and feelings going unsaid, but never fading.

The song ends, and he’s about to turn off the device and leave it at that, but a nagging feeling gets to him and he flips the tape to listen to what’s in store on the other side. Junmyeon hears the sound of someone clearing his throat, and he hears a voice sounding like milk mixed with honey. This time, the song he sings is very much like a confession; a profession of love that he couldn’t have said upfront. Listening to it, Junmyeon relishes the voice like one would eat chocolate, and he closes his eyes, a small face with wide eyes imprinting on his mind.

The song ends, and he really would have turned it off this time, except a voice speaks up; the same voice of the man that had sung that wondrous melody of amorous longing.

“I like you,” the voice was gentle, almost quiet, and Junmyeon recognizes it as Kyungsoo’s, his mind immediately conjuring up the image of eyelids fluttering slowly as if caught in a sleepy daze and long eyelashes; of heart-shaped smiles and milky skin. “but the problem is, I’m leaving.”

If he had just listened to it beforehand, would he have stopped Kyungsoo from leaving? Or would he have left it to fate to decide what to do with them?

“Even so, can we see each other again?” Junmyeon sees a flash of hope pass before his eyes, and he grabs onto it immediately, taking it with him as he runs out of the place to look for someone that isn’t really missing, just lost.

He believes in fate, he really does. He believes that if the two of you are meant to be, then you will always end up finding each other, no matter how many times you’ve lost each other along the way.

But this time, he decides to take action and not just pine on Kyungsoo and wait for him to come back. Because if he didn’t, then wouldn’t his fate turn out to be different? Wouldn’t he have missed his chance?


End file.
